


Mob jumps to its Feet

by the_authors_exploits



Series: AJ's AUs [10]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), SCP - Containment Breach, SCP Foundation
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, SCP inspired, Slight OOC, Swearing, not really too graphic but there's violence, the foundation is bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 05:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15550272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: Secure, Contain, Protect. But there's a breech and Jason will drag everyone--and everything--into the light of day





	Mob jumps to its Feet

**Author's Note:**

> I know some of the SCPs have numbers already assigned, but I took creative liberty so /shrug. Some details are kinda glossed over because they just didn't seem too important to the actual storytelling...

Secure; contain; protect. He had to scoff, even if that seemed to take too much energy, even if it drew the attention of every nameless person in white behind a foot of glass. Once more, he fell still; there was the crackle of the speaker, and a man’s voice came through, easily recognizable.

“We will begin test number 756 in 5, 4, 3, 2…”

A hose had been threaded through a portion of the wall and smoke began to pour out of it, easily filling the small room; he breathed, in and out, deep and even. There was nothing to fear but pain. The smoke thickened, poison rising higher, seeped into his lungs and spread through his veins. He just kept breathing; even as his blood vessels burst and he lungs filled with liquid, he breathed.

The air had turned green, something vile and ugly, but he kept still; legs pulled to his chest, he began to cough. Blood splattered out, flaking into the air and spilling on the crisp floor; it dribbled down his chin, bones aching, but he just laughed and laughed and laughed...

 

Secure; contain; protect. He was too tired to scoff this time; instead, he turned his face against the thick blanket and closed his eyes, willing the ugly strangers to leave him be. There was dried blood on his chin still because he had been too tired to clean up after the test. A room over through reinforced steel and concrete walls, 097 began to hum; deep and low…

His limbs eased, muscles relaxing, as the song echoed in his head; 097 was always kind, and so far the Foundation hadn’t figured out how to contain 097’s powers. He didn’t think there was a way to contain the being, nor why anyone would want to contain it; 097 only ever helped.

The song continued, easing into another rhythm, and he found himself forgetting about the observation deck; sleep claimed him and he happily let it. 097 did not quiet for hours.

 

Dr Keller studied his notes; SCP-118 once more survived an attempt on its life. Poisonous gases had been pumped into the 6 foot by 6 foot room, yet 118 refused to die; it spat blood, and an examination conducted afterwards showed chemical burns in its lungs, yet the SCP was not even close to death.

“I want to try the gasing again tomorrow.”

“Should it be healed by then.” Dr Tali Verrit indicated the paper before her. “Our tests appear to be too close together; SCP-118 is not healing enough for our tests to be conclusive anymore. Our first gas test didn’t even show it coughing blood.”

Keller dismissed her, waving his hand about and turning back to his notes. “Yet our hypothesis still stands: SCP-118 cannot be killed.” He stood to leave. “We will test again at 1400 tomorrow.”

 

097 changed pitch, enough to wake 118; he bolted upright. Still bleary and hurting, he glared towards the fortified doorway; he knew what was to come, so he waited and tugged the blanket tighter about his shoulders. They would come, three in lab coats followed by four armed guards, with a tray of food for breakfast--or whatever mealtime it was--followed by an examination.

He wondered if he was up for a fight, if he wanted to cause trouble; sometimes it went well and he was left alone for the day. Other times, it resulted in injuries and more strenuous tests, painful biopsies, and excessive blood taken. Today, the procession was led by the woman with a tight bun on her head; she was quiet, distrusting, and sharp with her orders.

Not someone to cross, but he still snarled when she approached with a tray of medical items. Apparently, food was not a priority this morning; 097 had gone quiet and that sent a chill down his spine. When 097 went quiet, it never went well.

“Arm,” the woman snapped a pair of gloves on, taking a needle from the tray. When he didn’t comply, the woman frowned and grasped the blanket tight to pull it away; he responded by tightening his own grip and the woman glared. “Are you going to be difficult today, 118?”

He muttered something, and the woman tipped her head; in a patronizing tone, she questioned, “What was that, 118?”

A quiet pause, and finally he spoke again, louder this time. “My name is Jason.”

 

097 didn’t have a name, or if it did Jason didn’t know it; everyone had designations here, names forgotten and exchanged for numbers. He wondered if when the foundation began they knew they’d have upwards in the thousands of anomalies. They’re not all in one facility, but Jason knew; just like he knew that 097 sang to chase the anger away, or that 017--a shadow child--just wanted to play.

They were not evil beings; anomalies? Perhaps, but disdainful? He turned his darkened gaze to one of the guards, then to the doctor lady. He assessed the guard once more, standing to his right, and planted his foot--encased in a slipper--against the ground; swaying to the left, Jason swung himself back to the right and shoulder checked the guard, sending the man into the wall.

He smirked, twisting into a roundhouse kick to another guard, following that up with a headbutt to another. But it couldn’t last long, it never did; the doctor had called for backup as soon as Jason started acting up, and so he was quickly overpowered. Three guards grabbed his arms, still secured in handcuffs, but he squirmed and kicked and snarled and bit.

“Enough!”

“118, calm!”

“Stop struggling!”

A man approached, another guard, holding a needle firmly; Jason kicked out, but the guard caught his attack and jabbed the needle deep into his thigh. Plunging the liquid in his body, Jason knew he’d go slack in a minute; strong sedatives were always used. He went to his knee, slipping to stand upright again, still snarling.

“Let go, Jason,” the man with the needle spoke; his name tag read Harkon, muscular and wise, blue eyes and black hair, kind as always, and Jason knew him well. “Let go.”

The other knee gave way and he slumped to the cold ground; darkness came slow and easy, accompanied by a 097’s somewhat panicky song.

 

SCP-017 hated it; hated this place, hated himself. Hated the lights but knew if they were gone he’d end up eating the walls, the doors, the people… He could not control it, never had been able to, and for a moment his mom thought it was cool, powerful, something to utilize.

But it got to the point where his power become a physical manifestation, enveloping himself and reaching for anything that cast a shadow, insatiable. So his mom called the foundation and he was taken away, locked in a room with bright, hot lamps.

He didn’t see her again; he wondered, at times, if he ever would. Tiring thoughts, so he pulled his legs close and pretended to be somewhere else far away.

 

Jason woke up sore and drained; he was strapped to an examination table at a 45* angle, tubes stuck into his arms and ribs, patches stuck to his skin at his temple and around his brows. Ridiculousness, idiocy, he bemoaned to himself.

Licking his lips, he still found satisfaction in the fight, the pain; he’d chosen this pain, unlike the hundreds of tests that left him choking on his own blood or curled in unimaginable pain. A doctor, not the woman with the hair bun or the balding elderly doctor, stood nearby taking notes from the monitors; he turned back to Jason. He tugged at a tube, stretching the skin, and Jason bit his tongue.

It was all fine; he’d chosen this. He didn’t want another survival test, and he knew this might be a result of his fight. The scientists hated to waste time.

Three bags fill with his blood, the tube tugged on gathering his DNA fast; his head felt woozy and the room began to spin, his ears humming louder and louder. He closed his eyes.

At least he’d chosen this.

 

097 hummed and sang and drifted about Jason’s mind; the night was long, long like the days, and red lights backlit the perimeter of the ceiling. Enough light for the observers to keep an eye on their anomalies, but still dark enough for those who need sleep to rest.

097 spoke no words in its songs, but the melodies were still comforting and beautiful. Jason wondered if he’d ever be able to thank the SCP; he hoped it knew how much he appreciated everything. He let his eyes close, curling up facing the wall, and ignored the quiet whirring as the security camera shifted on the wall. They might leave him alone tomorrow; normally, the day after he’s acted up, they don’t have the patience to deal with him. They learned early on that if he fought, and the next day he’d cause more injuries if not left alone.

097 sang all night in the back of Jason’s mind.

 

The alarm blared, drowning out 097, and Jason bolted upright, awake; there was little to do but sit and wonder--panic, almost, but Jason breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. The door was still locked airtight, the red lights blinking and flashing in the ceiling, and Jason felt no eyes on him.

The observers were gone, probably distracted by whatever was going on, and he didn’t mind; he wanted to know what exactly caused the alarm, but also knew he never would. They never gave updates on what day it was, what state the outside world was in, what occurrences happened in the facility.

Today though, the alarm--usually shut off shortly afterwards, the situation handled--did not cease; it rang, shrilly, obnoxious and incessant. The longer it cried, the tenser Jason got; not just because the noise was bothersome and grated on Jason’s ears, but also because what it meant.

If the situation was not contained-- _Secure, Contain, Protect_ \--then it was a powerful anomaly that had gotten out; and if an anomaly like that had gotten loose and the personnel went to face it… And it destroyed enough, causing an evacuation…

Jason--hundreds of other anomalies--would stay trapped, possibly dying here; he knew he couldn’t die--not even from starvation, and boy that had been such a lengthy test he’d almost lost his mind--but the idea of staying in this small room for eternity…

He wished he could die just to not deal with that.

 

The walls, usually painted a grayish white, were awash with blood; 029 didn’t really mind. Her slippers were drenched in red, her face splattered with it, her hands stained. No bother. She wanted out. And what she wanted, she got.

Enough of these windowless rooms and the angering screams from 097; no more, she had promised, and 097 had calmed then, turned its attention elsewhere. Glancing to the plaque on the wall, she turned left where the numbers counted higher; she had to find 097 and then they could be free.

 

The door broke down with a violent stroke, easily giving way to 029’s might; 097 raised his head and through the darkened feathers of his wings he gave a toothy grin, feral.

“Hello, sister,” he spoke quietly but the girl did not respond. She spoke rarely, even through his mind link, but he touched all in this facility and knew which was his family. Standing to his height, his wings dragged on the ground and his feet were sharp talons, his fingers elongated; other than that, he was completely human. Eyes an intelligent blue beneath dark brows, somewhat unstable but still comforting. He approached the girl, reaching out to brush through her tangled hair; he worked at parting it, taming it down, and she grinned shyly.

“There’s more to do,” he spoke; he had more plans, and 029 was fine with that.

This would be so much fun.

 

The alarm had become nigh silent, or perhaps Jason became too used to the sound; he’d begun tearing the stuffing out of his pillow, watching the feathers float about his room. And then he heard it.

Or, heard the lack of it; the alarm had gone silent. His ears rang, for a different reason now, and he stared intently at the door as if he could open it by mind; 097 had gone silent a while ago, or maybe Jason had just gone deaf to its song.

The door clicked, hissed, popped open; Jason blinked. Did he just discover new powers? Awesome!

Someone poked their head in just as he’s hopping up from the bunk, which almost sent him back on his butt in surprise; the person grinned, wide and sharp, and Jason narrowed his eyes.

“I found you!” the person entered--it’s a guy, appearing as a teenager, tall and with gigantic wings and taloned feet. “Come on, we have to move fast! Though it’ll be easy since we released all the others too. 029, come say hi to Jason!”

A girl also poked her head inside, waving with a soft smile before disappearing back outside; a scream and squelch followed. Jason turned a confused, if slightly disgusted, gaze on the birdkid.

“What,” he emphasized with a wave of his hand. “The fuck?”

“Oh!” The kid offered his hand. “I’m 097--oh, Tim! I’m Tim! And that’s 029; I have no idea if she has a name, she doesn’t really speak. Like I know what she means ‘cause I feel what she feels, but she doesn’t speak so yeah I guess I’ve just been calling her Sister.”

Eyes drift from the offered hand to Tim’s face; 097? He’s unsure, only ever hearing 097’s song. “She’s your...sister?”

“Oh, no!” Laughter; it sounded half crazed and Jason understood. “Not biologically! But I’ve sung to her like I did you!”

A tone in his mind, unheard, and his muscles relaxed immediately. “You’re 097.”

“Yeah!” Tim’s smile was too wide but ever comforting. “I said that!”

029 stuck her head back in, face pinched in frustration, and Tim’s feathers ruffled.

“Oh, right! We’re supposed to be escaping!”

In a flurry, his room was empty and he was left to quietly trail after them, shaking his head, already finding himself fond of the pair.

 

Chaos; huh, Jason thought. Secure; Chaos… He snickered and Tim too laughed; he was a persistent hum in Jason’s mind, and he figured it was a two way thing. Maybe Tim just thought in hums, or maybe he just wasn’t able to convey thoughts in words.

“My mind goes too fast.”

And, of course, Tim could hear everything Jason thought; that’s probably how he learned his name. “Too fast?”

“For you guys to understand, so it sounds like a hum; I’ve actually caused people to go nuts from the sound. That’s a reason the foundation nabbed me up; well, that and the feathers!”

He chattered a lot and Jason stayed quiet; maybe that’s why Tim and 029 got along so well. Since 029 didn’t speak, it allowed Tim to fill the silence.

“Ya know!” They skirted around a group of anomalies and stepped over some dead bodies. “I didn’t always look like this! The feathers and feet came when I turned 14; it was weird.”

“Painful?”

Tim hummed; it was very different than the one in Jason’s mind. Solemn, dark… It made his shoulders tense.

 

Personnel were torn limb from limb when caught in 029’s gaze; a twitch of her head and guts splattered. Jason tried really hard not to grin, to encourage this violence from a little girl, but also satisfaction from her power and the vengeance upon the guards, the scientists, those who harmed him.

Tim too did not let anyone too close to them; his eyes went soft and demure, head tipped the slightest bit, and suddenly a guard was aiming his gun at an unarmed scientist and pulling the trigger. From there, the gun was turned on someone else, on another, and then himself.

_“I’ve actually caused people to go nuts from the sound!”_

They were useful; Jason? Jason wasn’t.

 

“Whoa!”

Jason clamped a hand over 029’s eyes and pulled her close. “Hey, now, he’s a friendly!”

It was Harkon, hands raised in surrender, and Tim’s grin was more snarl than humor. “Whoa, easy…” Harkon murmured; he had always been as gentle as possible when around Jason, patient and kind, even when he had to administer the sedative.

_“Let go, Jason.”_

“Harkon’s a friend.”

029 lifted his hand from her eyes and watched Harkon curiously; so her power had an on/off switch. That was nice to know, though he should’ve assumed from surviving her gaze while others didn’t.

Right now, they’re at an impasse; Harkon stood still, sturdy, and Jason felt like he was holding 029 and Tim at bay, or they’d rip him apart.

“Harkon, we…”

A jerk of his head, towards a hallway. “Follow the yellow arrows; you’ll get to a door eventually and then… It’s a...parking lot, of sorts, a large tarmac and then a fence.” He nodded hesitantly at Tim. “Your wings are okay, right? We haven’t broken them?”

“Not for lack of trying.”

Nods, so many nods, as if to comfort himself. “That’s good; you’ll make it.” Another jerk of his head, urgently. “Now go! Military will be here soon.”

Jason, barely hesitant, hurried 029 and Tim in the direction Harkon indicated; he followed slow, eyes on Harkon in questioning, but there was no answer.

“Jason!”

He turned back, expectant, but Harkon wasn’t going to answer his questions.

“If you can...take 017 with you. Please.”

 

He can take another with him; on occasion, he called out _yellow arrows_ to those anomalies that looked sane enough to listen. Any that he could save, he would. And someday, maybe, the foundation would be exposed for what they were.

017 was easy to find, with all the doors open, and Jason let 029 and Tim keep moving for the exit; he stepped into the bright, bright room, raising his hand to shield his squinting eyes.

“Yo; 017?”

Quiet answered him and he stepped further into the room.

“017, Harkon sent me to get you out.”

“Leave.”

His eye caught a mass in the corner of the room, dark and writhing. “Not without you.”

The mass lurched forward, reaching for him, and he tensed in expectation; he was swallowed up in darkness, torn at the seams and hastily stitched back together in another realm.

It felt, momentarily, suffocating like his coffin and he fought to scream; but as the fog cleared, he found he wasn’t in his coffin. He was standing in a foggy gray expanse, vast and never ceasing; there were items cast about, like toys unwanted or grown bored with, some broken in half. A table, a chair, a bed… Some various smaller items, and in the distance people searched for a way out.

“Should have left when you could have.”

Turning, Jason spotted a pair of striking green eyes from beneath the table; he knelt down, tipping his head to see the small body of a boy clad in gray pajamas. The voice was the same from the room and Jason shook his head.

“Are you 017?”

Soft breathing. “Damian.”

“Alright, Damian.” Jason shifted. “Why don’t you let me out of this place and we can get out of this room?”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“Nothing I absorb ever goes back. Anything that casts a shadow becomes...a part of me.”

Jason looked about, a grin slowly splitting his face. “That’s pretty cool! No one can touch you.”

Damian buried his face in his knees, and Jason swallowed his grin.

“Huh…” He crawled forward, stuffing himself next to the boy under the table. “I am way too big to be doing this.”

Damian scuttled away, still hidden under the table, and Jason traced the underneath of the tabletop.

“I hate people touching me; they do nothing but hurt me and it sucks because I literally can’t die so it’s just pain and pain and pain…” He shrugged. “But no escape from it. Sometimes I don’t realise there are others that don’t even get to feel that. Do you feel pain?”

Damian, one eye peeking out from his hiding place, shrugged. “I...don’t know…”

His eyes rolled to address the boy with a mischievously sinister look. “Don’t you want to find out?”

 

Time passed differently in Damian’s void, so what was days of coaxing and teaching turned out to only be minutes outside; so, when Damian felt more confident in the control of his smoke, he spat all the humans out of the void and the mass of blackness became semi solid. A human figure, the size of Damian, and Jason grinned as the personnel--some dressed in prisoner garb--ran from the room in terror.

“Ready to go?”

Out in the hall, he could hear 029 stopping some scientists from escaping; Damian still seemed hesitant, but Jason rolled his eyes and stepped out of the bright lights.

“Come on, Damian, you aren’t going to swallow the world.” He paused to think; Tim grabbed his hand and tugged for them to continue. “And even if you do it’ll still survive in your void!”

“Oh!” Tim exclaimed. “A brother?”

 

There’s a man--dressed in orange, a nametag reading Class D--aiming an automatic rifle at the four of them; Jason has a hand over 029’s eyes again, his indication for her to not harm this one. He’s a test subject as much as they were, fearful but still hurt like them.

“We’re not here to hurt you.”

A snarl, the twitch of a finger on the trigger, the sound of a gunshot.

He sidestepped into the path of the bullet; he jerked with the impact, stumbling, and blood bubbled into the palm of his hand. He grit his teeth, turning his gaze up at the armed prisoner.

Tim laughed and laughed and laughed. “Nice try, dumbass.”

Jason could tell 029, and even Damian, was smirking, peering around Jason’s bulk. “He can’t die,” the shadow child spoke.

The bullet clicked out of the wound and to the floor and he breathed deeply. “Can’t kill what’s already dead.”

The prisoner turned in terror and ran screaming, and Jason companions continued to laugh; even Jason found himself fighting the manic joy of freedom and power. They were anomalies, feared and unknown, and that wasn’t a curse. Right now, free of restraints, they were blessed to conquer.

“Absolutely,” Tim concurred; his large wings ruffled as he shifted close, elongated hand grasping Jason’s shoulder in solidarity. “And we’re so gonna conquer.”

 

The wind blew about them, rapid and wild; the sky was clear save for a few splotches of clouds in the distance. Everyone heaved the clean air, in awe that they’d made it this far, that they might make it farther. Jason shuddered, Damian’s smoke body stretching across the pavement and Tim flew loops in the sky.

029 grasped Jason’s hand, hers cold and clammy and his stiff and calloused; he turned to her, ensuring she was alright, and her attention was pulled everywhere. Her mouth hung open in awe and she began mouthing something, breath soft over her lips; Jason bent low, to ensure she was unhurt.

“C…”

“What?” He tucked into a squat, still holding her hand delicately; for all her violence, she was still a kid. “What was that?”

“C...ass… Cass. Name Cass.”

He broke into a broad grin, slow like, and kissed her dirtied brow.


End file.
